MR. PLOWDEN ASSERTS HIS RIGHTS
When last we saw Eva she had just become privately engaged to the
Reverend James Plowden. But the marriage was not to take place till the
following spring, and the following spring was a long way off. Vaguely
she hoped something might occur to prevent it, forgetting that, as a
rule, in real life it is only happy things which accidents occur to
prevent. Rare, indeed, is it that the Plowdens of this world are
prevented from marrying the Evas; Fate has sufficient to do in
thwarting the Ernests. And, meanwhile, her position was not altogether
unendurable, for she had made a bargain with her lover that the usual
amenities of courtship were to be dispensed with. There were to be no
embracings or other tender passages; she was not even to be forced to
call him James. “James!” how she detested the name! Thus did the
wretched girl try to put off the evil day, much as the ostrich is
supposed to hide her head in a bush and indulge in dreams of fancied
security. Mr. Plowden did not object; he was too wary a hunter to do
so. While his stately prey was there with her head in the thickest of
the bush he was sure of her. She would never wake from her foolish
dreams till the ripe moment came to deliver the fatal blow, and all
would be over. But if, on the contrary, he startled her now, she might
take flight more swiftly than he could follow, and leave him alone in
the desert.
So when Eva made her little stipulations he acquiesced in them, after
only just so much hesitation as he thought would seem lover-like.
“Life, Eva,” he said, sententiously, “is a compromise. I yield to your
wishes.” But in his heart he thought that a time would come when she
would have to yield to his, and his cold eye gleamed. Eva saw the
gleam, and shuddered prophetically.
The Reverend Mr. Plowden did not suffer much distress at the coldness
with which he was treated. He knew that his day would come, and was
content to wait for it like a wise man. He was not in love with Eva. A
nature like his is scarcely capable of any such feeling as that, for
instance, which Eva and Ernest bore to each other. True love, crowned
with immortality, veils his shining face from such men as Mr. Plowden.
He was fascinated by her beauty, that was all. But his cunning was of a
superior order, and he was quite content to wait. So he contrived to
extract a letter from Eva, in which she talked of “our engagement,” and
alluded to “our forthcoming marriage,” and waited.
And thus the time went on all too quickly for Eva. She was quietly
miserable, but she was not acutely unhappy. That was yet to come, with
other evil things. Christmas came and went, the spring came too, and
with the daffodils and violets came Ernest’s letter.
Eva was down the first one morning, and was engaged in making the tea
in the Cottage dining-room, when that modern minister to the decrees of
Fate, the postman, brought the letter. She recognised the writing in a
moment, and the tea-caddy fell with a crash on to the floor. Seizing
the sealed letter, she tore it open and read it swiftly. O, what a wave
of love surged up in her heart as she read! Pressing the senseless
paper to her lips, she kissed it again and again.
“O Ernest!” she murmured; “O my love, my darling!”
Just then Florence came down, looking cool and composed, and giving
that idea of quiet strength which is the natural attribute of some
women.
Eva pushed the letter into her bosom.
“What is the matter, Eva?” said Florence, quietly, noting her flushed
face, “and why have you upset the tea?”
“Matter!” she answered, laughing happily—she had not laughed so for
months; “O, nothing—I have heard from Ernest, that is all.”
“Indeed!” answered her sister, with a troubled smile on her dark face;
“and what has our runaway to say for himself?”
“Say! O, he has a great deal to say, and I have something to say too. I
am going to marry him.”
“Indeed! And Mr. Plowden?”
Eva turned pale.
“Mr. Plowden! I have done with Mr. Plowden.”
“Indeed!” said Florence, again; “really this is quite romantic. But
please pick up that tea. Whoever you marry, let us have some breakfast
in the meanwhile. Excuse me for one moment, I have forgotten my
handkerchief.”
Eva did as she was bid, and made the tea after a fashion.
Meanwhile Florence went to her room and scribbled a note, enclosed it
in an envelope, and rang the bell.
The servant answered.
“Tell John to take this to Mr. Plowden’s lodgings at once; and if he
should be out, to follow him till he finds him, and deliver it.”
“Yes, miss.”
Ten minutes later Mr. Plowden got the following note:
“Come here at once. Eva has heard from Ernest Kershaw, and announces
her intention of throwing you over and marrying him. Be prepared for a
struggle, but do not show that you have heard from me. You must find
means to hold your own. Burn this.”
Mr. Plowden whistled as he laid the paper down. Going to his desk, he
unlocked it, and extracted the letter he had received from Eva, in
which she acknowledged her engagement to him, and then, seizing his
hat, walked swiftly towards the Cottage.
Meanwhile Florence made her way downstairs again, saying to herself as
she went, “An unlucky chance. If I had seen the letter first, I would
have burned it. But we shall win yet. She has not the stamina to stand
out against that brute.”
As soon as she reached the dining-room Eva began to say something more
about her letter, but her sister stopped her quickly.
“Let me have my breakfast in peace, Eva. We will talk of the letter
afterwards. He does not interest me, your Ernest, and it takes away my
appetite to talk business at meals.”
Eva ceased, and sat silent; breakfast had no charms for her that
morning.
Presently there was a knock at the door, and Mr. Plowden entered with a
smile of forced gaiety on his face.
“How do you do, Florence?” he said; “how do you do, dear Eva? You see I
have come to see you early this morning. I want a little refreshment to
enable me to get through my day’s duty. The early suitor has come to
pick up the worm of his affections,” and he laughed at his joke.
Florence shuddered at the simile, and thought to herself that there was
a fair chance of the affectionate worm disagreeing with the early
suitor.
Eva said nothing. She sat quite still and pale.
“Why, what is the matter with you both? Have you seen a ghost?”
“Not exactly; but I think that Eva has received a message from the
dead,” said Florence, with a nervous laugh.
Eva rose. “I think, Mr. Plowden,” she said, “that I had better be frank
with you at once. I ask you to listen to me for a few moments.”
“Am I not always at your service, dear Eva?”
“I wish,” began Eva, and broke down—“I wish,” she went on again, “to
appeal to your generosity and to your feelings as a gentleman.”
Florence smiled.
Mr. Plowden bowed with mock humility and smiled too—a very ugly smile.
“You are aware that, before I became engaged to you, I had had a
previous—affair.”
“With the boy who committed a murder,” put in Mr. Plowden.
“With a gentleman who had the misfortune to kill a man in a duel,”
explained Eva.
“The Church and the law call it murder.”
“Excuse me, Mr. Plowden, we are dealing neither with the Church nor the
law; we are dealing with the thing as it is called among gentlemen and
ladies.”
“Go on,” said Mr. Plowden.
“Well, misunderstandings, which I need not now enter into, arose with
reference to that affair, though, as I told you, I loved the man.
To-day I have heard from him, and his letter puts everything straight
in my mind, and I see how wrong and unjust has been my behaviour to
him, and I know that I love him more than ever.”
“Curse the fellow’s impudence!” said the clergyman, furiously; “if he
were here, I would give him a bit of my mind!”
Eva’s spirit rose, and she turned on him with flashing eyes, looking
like a queen in her imperial beauty.
“If he were here, Mr. Plowden, you would not dare to look him in the
face. Men like you only take advantage of the absent.”
The clergyman ground his teeth. He felt his furious temper rising and
did not dare to answer, though he was a bold man, in face of a woman.
He feared lest it should get beyond him; but beneath his breath he
muttered, “You shall pay for that, my lady!”
“Under these circumstances,” went on Eva, “I appeal to you as a
gentleman to release me from an engagement into which, as you know, I
have been drawn more by force of circumstances than by my own wish.
Surely, it is not necessary for me to say any more.”
Mr. Plowden rose and came and stood quite close to her, so that his
face was within a few inches of her eyes.
“Eva,” he said, “I am not going to be trifled with like this. You have
promised to marry me, and I shall keep you to your promise. You laid
yourself out to win my affection, the affection of an honest man.”
Again Florence smiled, and Eva made a faint motion of dissent.
“Yes, but you did, you encouraged me. It is very well for you to deny
it now, when it suits your purpose, but you did, and you know it, and
your sister there knows it.”
Florence bowed her head in assent.
“And now you wish, in order to gratify an unlawful passion for a
shedder of blood—you wish to throw me over, to trample upon my holiest
feelings, and to rob me of the prize which I have won. No, Eva, I will
not release you.”
“Surely, surely, Mr. Plowden,” said Eva, faintly, for she was a gentle
creature, and the man’s violence overwhelmed her, “you will not force
me into a marriage which I tell you is repugnant to me? I appeal to
your generosity to release me. You can never oblige me to marry you
when I tell you that I do not love you, and that my whole heart is
given to another man.”
Mr. Plowden saw that his violence was doing its work, and determined to
follow it up. He raised his voice till it was almost a shout.
“Yes,” he said, “I will; I will not submit to such wickedness. Love!
that will come. I am quite willing to take my chance of it. No, I tell
you fairly that I will not let you off; and if you try to avoid
fulfilling your engagement to me I will do more: I will proclaim you
all over the country as a jilt; I will bring an action for breach of
promise of marriage against you—perhaps you did not know that men can
do that as well as women—and cover your name with disgrace! Look, I
have your written promise of marriage;” and he produced her letter.
Eva turned to her sister.
“Florence,” she said, “cannot you say a word to help me? I am
overwhelmed.”
“I wish I could, Eva dear,” answered her sister, kindly; “but how can
I? What Mr. Plowden says is just and right. You are engaged to him, and
are in honour bound to marry him. O Eva, do not bring trouble and
disgrace upon us all by your obstinacy! You owe something to your name
as well as to yourself, and something to me too. I am sure that Mr.
Plowden will be willing to forget all about this if you will undertake
never to allude to it again.”
“O yes, certainly, Miss Florence. I am not revengeful; I only want my
rights.”
Eva looked faintly from one to the other; her head sank, and great
black rings painted themselves beneath her eyes. The lily was broken at
last.
“You are very cruel,” she said, slowly; “but I suppose it must be as
you wish. Pray God I may die first, that is all!” and she put her hands
to her head and stumbled from the room, leaving the two conspirators
facing each other.
“Come, we got over that capitally,” said Mr. Plowden, rubbing his
hands. “There is nothing like taking the high hand with a woman. Ladies
must sometimes be taught that a gentleman has rights as well as
themselves.”
Florence turned on him with bitter scorn.
“_Gentlemen!_ Mr. Plowden, why is the word so often on your lips?
Surely, after the part you have just played, you do not presume to rank
yourself among _gentlemen?_ Listen! it suits my purposes that you
should marry Eva, and you shall marry her; but I will not stoop to play
the hypocrite with a man like you. You talk of yourself as a gentleman,
and do not scruple to force an innocent girl into a wicked marriage,
and to crush her spirit with your cunning cruelty. A _gentleman_
forsooth!—a satyr, a devil in disguise!”
“I am only asserting my rights,” he said, furiously; “and whatever I
have done, you have done more.”
“Do not try your violence on me, Mr. Plowden; it will not do. I am not
made of the same stuff as your victim. Lower your voice, or leave the
house and do not enter it again.”
Mr. Plowden’s heavy under-jaw fell a little; he was terribly afraid of
Florence.
“Now,” she said, “listen! I do not choose that you should labour under
any mistake. I hold your hand in this business, though to have to do
with you in any way is in itself a defilement,” and she wiped her
delicate fingers on a pocket-handkerchief as she said the word,
“because I have an end of my own to gain. Not a vulgar end like yours,
but a revenge, which shall be almost divine or diabolical, call it
which you will, in its completeness. Perhaps it is a madness, perhaps
it is an inspiration, perhaps it is a fate. Whatever it is, it animates
me body and soul, and I will gratify it, though to do so I have to use
a tool like you. I wished to explain this to you. I wished, too, to
make it clear to you that I consider you contemptible. I have done
both, and I have now the pleasure to wish you good-morning.”
Mr. Plowden left the house white with fury, and cursing in a manner
remarkable in a clergyman.
[Illustration: “Mr. Plowden left the house, white with fury.”]
“If she wasn’t so handsome, hang me if I would not throw the whole
thing up!” he said.
Needless to say, he did nothing of the sort; he only kept out of
Florence’s way.